Why the Bishop of Sheffield feels drawn especially to the Easter story of Mary meeting Jesus

When they were growing up, my sons used to tease me how often they caught me wiping away a tear. Maybe that’s one reason why I feel such a connection to one particular Bible story about the Risen Jesus – the one from the Gospel of John, chapter 20, which records his appearance to Mary Magdalene.

The story begins with Mary standing outside the empty tomb of Jesus, weeping. It's the first Easter morning, and she and the other women had gone to the place where Jesus had been laid, to anoint him for burial. When they got there, they found that his body was gone. So Mary weeps. Her tears reflect a double loss. It's terrible enough that Jesus has died. Mary loved the Lord dearly. She had loved him and she's devastated to have lost him.

Now, to add insult to injury, his body has gone as well. Deprived of the chance to anoint the Lord's body, she sobs and sobs. Still crying, she bends to peer into the tomb, and sees two angels dressed in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been. She doesn't bother trying to make sense of what they're doing there; it's as if she's passed caring.

But angels gently question her. 'Dear woman', they say, 'why are you weeping?'. Mary's answer is utterly personal. 'They've taken my Lord away', she replies, 'and I don't know where they've put him'. Not 'they've taken the Lord away'. Not 'they've taken our Lord away'. 'They've taken my Lord away'.

As Mary stands there outside the tomb, she stands for you and me. Even if you've never lost the one who was most precious to you in all the world (and this year of pandemic too many of us have), you'll recognise her tears. Maybe, in your case it wasn't a person who died, but a dream, a hope, a faith.

You'll still recognise her tears. And the gentleness of the angels reflects God's care for the hurts inside each of us. 'Why are you crying?', the angels say, and they invite us to talk about the things which are most precious and personal to us. Why? Because God cares about those things.

We can be sure of this because what happens next is that Jesus enters the story. Having spoken to the angels, Mary becomes aware of a figure standing behind her. She doesn’t know who it is, but the Lord speaks to her, asking her the same gentle question which the angels had already asked: 'Dear woman, why are you weeping? Who are you looking for?'.

Thinking he's the gardener, she feels he may know where Jesus' body is, so instead of answering him, she asks a question of her own. 'Have you got him? If so, please tell me where you've put him, and I'll take him away'. Then comes the most beautiful moment in the story: 'Mary!', he says. And at once she knows who he must be. 'Rabboni!', she says ('My Teacher', that means, or 'My Master').

Now, don’t forget this is the first time the Risen Lord has revealed himself to anyone. Mary is the first to see and know him. How amazing that it should be Mary: a woman, in a world in which women were despised. And yet how typical of Jesus that he didn’t go in resurrection glory to confront and terrify Pontius Pilate; he didn’t go in resurrection power to confound and rebuke the Jewish religious leaders.

He didn’t even go to encourage his frightened band of male disciples, although he would do that next. Instead, he went first to comfort a woman, weeping outside his tomb. And it is to ordinary, weeping people, to those who are overlooked and despised by the world that the Risen Lord still comes today, to call us by name.

Last Easter, we were in the early weeks of lockdown 1. Few of us had any idea what these past 12 months would bring. For very many of us it has been a year of tears and loss. How we need, this year, to hear the Lord asking us, as he asked Mary on that first Easter Day, ‘Why are you weeping?’ – not to rebuke us, but simply because our tears matter to the Lord. How we need to hear our Risen Saviour calling us by name, assuring us of his love and summoning us to new hope. May the Lord bless us in the coming days with peace and joy.